


Do Go Changin'

by Gingercityjazz



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Snow Storm, StubbornMolly, StubbornSherlock, Trapped Scene, bamf!Molly, smut to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5132276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gingercityjazz/pseuds/Gingercityjazz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Molly, trapped in her new chem lab with a raging storm outside, have to find a way to get through the night. Molly is fed up with Sherlock always undermining her dating choices, and Sherlock is, as usual, confounded by his feelings. Things get tense in more ways than one.</p><p>Part 2 to come, in more ways than one ;P</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Go Changin'

9:45 pm.

 

“There’s no way you can’t pick this lock? All you do is intrude, this should be no different.”

 

When they had settled in to work on Sherlock’s newest case only a few hours before, the storm seemed to be nothing more than another harsh winter’s day in downtown London. But being absorbed in their work, not noticing as the clock ticked away, snow had piled up freezing the top windows shut. They’d both been cross enough with the other that the only way to exhaust their anger was to work through it, unaware that anyone else left in the building had taken their leave when the second warnings hit. No radio or telly in the lab, one rule they both agreed on. Those few hours turned into six, and besides silent trips to the bathroom in Molly’s office and a minimal supper, they only looked up from their respective stations, at each other for the first time since the morning, when the lights flickered off and a spark singed the plug where Molly’s laptop and phone charger met the wall.

 

“Well there is a science to this, but seeing as we are limited in our options, I’m making do.”

 

The backup generator left them in dim blue light, like the late trams downtown.

 

“Just please try.” As if he wasn’t.

 

Trying in vain to get out of the lab, the automatic door having shut when the power went out, Molly was almost resigned to the fact that she might be stuck until Monday when the cleaners came. They might be stuck.

 

Molly was growing more frustrated, and thereby, more vocal with each passing hour. The idea of being left to her own devices alone seemed more palatable than even having a troubled genius to aide in their escape. A storm like this, the weekend upon them, her phone pushing it on maybe an hour of charge, and to top things off, the morgue was not getting top billing for search parties looking for survivors of the storm. If anyone even knew they were there. Molly’s natural ability to be invisible and Sherlock’s general unpleasantness added up to the pair of them being mostly ignored by the staff at St Bart’s.

 

It wasn’t helping things that Sherlock had just that morning given her his most recent unfiltered opinion on exactly how transparent her behavior had been around a new potential suitor, effectively destroying all hope of her seeing him again. Before her anger got the better of her and she kicked him out so as to chase down her one-time date for the evening, said fellow was out the door. Molly decided she would stand her ground. This new chem lab was under her own command, having been granted the space connected to her office for her own research. Sherlock was not going to destroy the one thing that was hers alone, and if she forced him out the door, she would be telling him that he had won, and no doubt he would return the next day wanting full reign of everything. As always. She decided instead to let him stay, making it clear that the rules had changed, and hoping that if she worked fervently and made the workspace difficult for him to take over completely, he might piss off to another corner, to find another pathologist or lab assistant to badger. His crocodile tears and put-on charm could find a new target. But as fate would have it for them, the power went out before Molly had the chance to snatch up the key that overrode the automatic door into the hallway. Because it was in her office.

 

“Where is the key for this beast of a door?” Sherlock had practically boomed when they first found themselves trapped.

 

A sheepish Molly was turning the space upside down looking for the keys to her office, realizing she knew exactly where they were. She knelt down and peered under the wooden door. The unmistakable silver glint was barely a foot inside.

 

“I must have dropped them when I was bringing lunch in.” Molly knew Sherlock would no doubt feel the need to scold her absent-mindedness. Unbreachable, unless she were to throw something heavy against it. How much did he weigh, she giggled bitterly to herself.

 

 

“Well that’s lovely.” He quite mildly remarked, before going back to work on the heavy steel pane in front of him that lead into the hall.

 

Sherlock had spent the morning eating both feet in a conversation with Molly’s undeniably awkward date, feeling the need to point out the obvious about their being so poorly matched. He’d strode in looking for her help, as always, and found this man’s presence both useless to him and useless to Molly. The clear sign that no physical contact beyond an uncomfortable handholding had occurred between them, the way Molly seemed to size the two men up in relation to each other, it was clear as day what was going on. Her perfume had not been reapplied, her hair was washed clean but unstyled, even her lips were not painted for him. Calling him dull and no substitute for Sherlock had obviously called into question something already stopping them from going further together. He merely brought it to light. Molly stood stunned, not sure how to defend herself. After the man angrily left, and Molly oddly did not try to force Sherlock from her new space, he settled in to the silence with her, working away as if to prove that he had a right to be there. Unaware as he was of his own emotions, his desire to do this remained under the surface, but commanded him to stay nonetheless.

 

The pair had mostly worked away that afternoon, slipping into focus on their own projects until the other’s cough or movement would stir them into recall. It had been a contest, a way to stake claim. It seemed childish to Molly in the aftermath, but she was out to prove that his presence did not affect her as much as he desperately needed it to. His aim was simply to solve this currently perplexing case. At least it began that way.

 

After hours of calls and texts, no response from John seeing as he was out of the country (and not much help at that distance), and not wanting to worry her family until absolutely necessary, Molly only had left her neighbor, a lab assistant, and Lestrade in her contact list. Just looking at it made her feel more trapped than ever. Barely getting a signal, she’d called and left messages on each number, ultimately deciding to save battery until things got dire.

 

 

“Molly you know that I am making the effort to acknowledge just how my deductions might fall on displeased ears, but I am unwilling to censor myself when the resultant information is beneficial to everyone involved. Beneficial to you.” He hesitated in letting his guard down, but decided it couldn’t hurt to let her believe he cared especially for her. Especially with regards to the gentleman callers she very infrequently had. His deft hands worked the lock to her office now. He passingly noted earlier that there was a couch, a small cot, and what he hoped was the hum of a space heater. Sherlock hoped to find it warmer in her office than the air had gotten in here.

 

“Just zip it and try your mobile again. I’m going to try to pry this door open, maybe hunt down some blankets and snacks. Hand me that flashlight will you.”

 

“It’s dead now, and turning it back on doesn’t charge it.”

 

Sherlock passed the flashlight from beneath the sink to her, trying to meet her eyes, wanting to tell her to be careful, knowing she didn’t need to hear it. Exactly when did he start allowing reason to take a back seat in his conversations with her? Fear of insulting her, fear of hurting her again as he seemed to so often do. Surely she would forgive him again, as she always did.

 

Molly grabbed it, making no attempt to let him catch her gaze, and pulled her lab coat tight around herself. She’d found a pair of pliers beneath the sink earlier, and was wedging them into the space between the door and the wall. A hard push with the right pressure, and the door gave just enough for her to slide it open slightly. Just as Sherlock made his way to help her, she pulled her metal lab chair into the gap, wedging it in enough to hop over and out into the cold hall. He watched curiously, not expecting her to so casually throw herself over the chair and smoothly land on the other side. He hadn’t even seen her find the tool and, even more bothersome, hadn’t thought to look himself.

 

Evidently, the heat had been off in the building longer than it had since the power went out, and at least one window must be open somewhere by mistake. Molly’s breath appeared before her. She pulled the chair through leaving only one metal leg to prop the door open, not wanting to let any more heat out that needed. As it shut heavily, a vacuumed gust of cool air and dusting of snow pulled in through the open window at the end of the hall.

The same was happening inside. The glass met the ceiling, too high for Sherlock to climb to, the sparse lab having barely any shelving and only two chairs set at two small stations. It was no doubt too frozen to attempt closing anyway, so he settled for busying himself finding things to possibly plug the gap with.

 

Molly looked down the sparse corridor, tried each door in vain and found only one window with potential for exit, but seeing as they were in a basement and that the windows opened outward, the dense snow against them would be staying put until it felt like melting. When Molly returned minutes later, she explained to Sherlock the only place she could get to was the lobby area down the hall, where a first aid kit held two blankets, among other things, and two vending machines yielded a smattering of various treats. Sherlock had no luck with her office door, apparently having made things worse when the bobby pins he’d found snapped off inside the tiny slot.

An hour of silence passed while Molly nibbled a chocolate bar and sipped the water. A blanket wrapped around her more for comfort than the need to keep warm. Sherlock was restless, pacing and trying to busy himself with the same slides he’d been looking at for hours.

 

“I just don’t see why you can’t appreciate it when someone tries to help you. That man was a waste of your time, you’re better off.” His eyed glued to the scope.

 

“Well luckily for you, the men in my life are none of your concern. So the next time you feel the need to point out just exactly how clear it is to everyone in the room how much a man I am seeing resembles you, yet is clearly not ‘right’ for me, I’d advise you to shut it. Tight.”

 

Something in her biting words made Sherlock jump. He was well aware that when survival instincts kicked in, humans were not far removed from feral cats, gone missing into the wild. We all revert when threatened. That, or, Molly’s word choice briefly reminded him of something he’d found a week earlier on her lunch break. Some erotica still open on her work computer. Careless of her to leave it open, especially when she knew of his tendency to commandeer her work space when he needed to think. The particular adjective, ‘tight’, was uttered in the heat of a moment between two lovers, and Sherlock was surprised to have made this connection. He figured that memory had been deleted along with all the other sexual imagery that occasionally popped into his mind.

 

“If he were right for you, don’t you think he wouldn’t have let some git like myself get in his way? I am sorry that it ended as it did, but I am not sorry it ended.” Sherlock surprised himself with his put-down. It was meant to be sarcastic but the truth had a taste and he knew it.

 

“Of course you’re not. To think that I might move on, towards a stable and decent man, however worthless and dull you may deem him to be, it bothers you Sherlock. You don’t want me, I know this, but you also don’t want the inconvenience of a man in my life. Taking up space in my flat with me….” Molly’s tone had begun almost in apathy and defeat but was becoming harsher now.

 

“Molly, I would respect your boundaries but you never seem to do anything that would suggest I was invading your space unwelcomed.” _Besides calling me an intruder. “_ Want and deserve are not mutually exclusive but they may as well be.” What was this coming from his mouth unfiltered? Had he said that aloud?

 

Molly was sure she misheard him but her own response was ripe on her tongue and she clipped his words. “Coming into my office whenever you please. Suppose I had a guest, and in a passionate moment we decided not to wait until we got home?” Molly was standing now, moving closer to him, her defiance at his words seeming to be aimed partially inward. Convincing herself of the possibilities she was outlining.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Molly you are not the kind of woman who gives into her urges like some kind of animal.” Sherlock was losing patience with her now, despite their situation and his better judgment to listen to her and shut up. Who knows how long they would be stuck without contact. At least one night, this much seemed apparent as it grew later and the storm continued its havoc in the streets above.

 

“How dare you!”

 

Molly’s voice boomed in the tiny space, and Sherlock was startled. He’d never seen her snap at anyone before. And now she was right in his face, blanket condemned to the floor, having pushed him from the desk, and he felt himself backing up slightly.

 

“How dare you call me ridiculous, and how dare you think you know anything about me beyond what I’ve shown you. Do you know anything at all?”

 

He was fairly certain she did not expect an answer, and so he gave her one. Shedding his Belstaff in a vain attempt at regaining his composure, rolled up the sleeves of his button down. Was he mad? It was hardly warm enough but trapped as they were, Sherlock felt the need to take back some freedom and movement. He wouldn’t allow the room to shrink them in as Molly took even more of his space up. It was suffocating.

 

“I know that you didn’t care for that man in the least, because he’s not me.” He forced his voice lower, tilting his head to match, growing quiet. A challenge.

 

Molly’s furrored brows and tight stance slowly released, her face softening into something that Sherlock had never seen on her. Anger turned into a bizarre serenity, and he felt as if maybe the eye of the storm outside was in sync with Molly’s sudden calm. Something in the energy she was giving off felt entirely new for them, and he was just as terrified of upsetting her to a point that he couldn’t predict, as he was with not knowing just how far she was going to go.

 

“He is not you.” Molly stood directly squared to him, then moved back and looked off as if reciting an old memory to a child. “You are a callous, frozen and hollow man. You deduced that I made no attempt to paint myself up for him, and yet I do for you. It’s absurd the game I try to play with you, like a child you have no concept of the rules. I’m completely daft.”

 

Molly’s eyes were flashing wildly now, from his face to his chest, her hands coming up to land on either side of Sherlock against the back sink. Her eyes landed on his for a tense moment, and he felt his pupils dilate. He couldn’t tell if her anger was purely directed at him, or if some of it was refracting back at her.

 

Sherlock’s voice came out at nearly a whisper now. “Molly, I don’t know how to do any of this.” He was unsure what his words meant even as they toppled from his mouth.

 

“Of course you do. Instinct is there before reason, before logic. But you are more comfortable with those because they let you feel above everyone else.” Her expression changed from anger to something adjacent to pity. And maybe faith. He was a child, and he’d just tried to eat the plastic fruit. Molly was taking it away, head shakingly.

 

Sherlock’s mind was flashing upon those words again, seen on the screen in Molly’s office. Of the way her mouth crooked up to one side when she gave in to him always asking for favours. His head was swimming with memories he thought had been erased, mixing what must have been some hidden lust with some not so hidden guilt.

 

“You’re right Molly. You see me more than I do, I think.” Sherlock held her arms now, pulling her slightly to him, her small body barely touching his but feeling like an even match. He had grasped her on instinct, wanting to stop her from boiling over or falling or hitting him, he didn’t know. They looked at each other for a long moment.

 

“I’m not expecting…” Her voice trailed off now, her previous boldness giving way to her own insecurity again. The only thing she wanted more than to hold him was to be able to leave this room, to leave his firm grasp.

 

Then Sherlock was holding her tightly to him, pulling her arms up to his neck, moving tentatively down to meet her slight mouth with his own. When he finally connected, the shock of the sensation sent him into a frenzy, grabbing at her waist and spinning them until her back was now to the sink.

 

Dizzy with want for him, Molly was pulling frantically at his shirt, pawing him as her tongue met his own. For a man so unsure of his abilities in this regard, he was allowing his instincts not only to guide him, but to possess him entirely.

 

Sherlock broke the kiss to take in a breath, and watched as Molly gazed up at him, seeing something on her face that in all the years he’d known her, he’d never seen. Was this what her lovers got to see? Would he be enough? Before he could voice these concerns, Molly was at his mouth again, this time softer, more in control of her own movements. Her grasp on him turned into small caresses down his arms, up to his hair, gently pulling the curls at the back of his neck and scratching the sensitive space there.

 

When her mouth moved up to lick the defined stripe of his clavicle, Sherlock discovered exactly how easily one could give in to what he considered animalistic response. He moaned softly into her ear.

 

“Molly.”

 

As she grinned against his neck, shivering at the sensation between her legs upon hearing him breathe out her name, Molly pulled back and looked up at Sherlock, wanting his permission to continue this. Before she could speak, he cut off her thought.

 

“I’m sorry it’s taken me pushing you over the edge to find out what this tension has been about for so long. Molly I don’t deserve you.”

 

“Maybe not, but I deserve this.” And Molly was pulling him towards her, back to the desk, hoisting herself up and wrapping her legs around him. He seemed adorably flustered when she stroked her legs over his hips, but at the angle they were connecting on, his hunger made him pull her lab coat shoulder aside, and he bit down on her neck, immediately lapping the area after, experimenting with the change in sensation. His reward was Molly’s gasp and tiny squeal, and he suddenly felt as if he would never be able to stop himself from coaxing that noise, and likely many more, from her. He bit down again, this time slightly harder.

 

“Ooh, well that will be raising eyebrows tomorrow.” Molly mused.

 

Sherlock moved away, holding her shoulders to inspect the already forming bruise. His eyes windened at the though he may have hurt her.

_You cad Sherlock, she’s not a guniea pig for testing._

 

Molly could feel him tense and pulled his face back to hers, forcing his eyes to meet hers.

 

“I’m not made of porcelain you know. And think about it, I know you read some of what you found on my computer. While not all porn is automatically transferable, its safe to assume that anything you saw is completely within bounds with me. Go ahead.” Molly was finding her position atop the desk liberating, and for once she had something Sherlock desperately needed. Assurance. As she spoke, she twirled his hair with one had and held the collar of his shirt with the other.

 

He caught her smirk and felt his blood running steadying south at the thought of Molly having such hold over him in this moment. He knew there was something about her that drew them together. Like him, she could be cocky and pompous with what she wanted. She’d voiced her thoughts more with him today than in the previous years of their friendship. And evidently her thoughts were lining up nicely with his.

 

With a tug of his shirt, Molly was smashing her lips to his again, the two of them in a wrestling match of tongues and teeth and hands. She felt her head tap the cupboard above and immediately broke the kiss anticipating Sherlock would stop to see if she was ok. Instead, he lifted her right off the desk and spun around, placing her in a chair and kneeling before her, sliding his hands up her legs to the inside seam of her trousers.

 

“Well now why are you all the way down there?” Molly teased as she moved her hands in his hair again, hearing him purr involuntarily. She giggled and held it back when he scowled at her.

 

“I am exploring. Now zip it. I’m working.”

 

And Molly felt him slide his hands up under the hems of her pants, his cool palms at her ankles, taking her shoes off one at a time as his other hand wound its way up her calf and stroked at the crook of her knee. Molly shivered from the suddenness of his command over her, but welcomed his confidence. Her breath having time to catch, she marveled at this strange reality. _Best not to think to long at it, Molly._ She reached out for him as he licked at her exposed ankle as he pulled off her other boot.

 

Of course his desire to touch Molly would not be overridden by a clever plan, and yet he was having trouble clarifying what to do about the fact that his tongue was tasting sweet and salty flesh, and it gave him an idea. He stood suddenly, and Molly’s head followed him, questioningly.

 

“Molly, do you have any idea how amazing you are?” Sherlock was complimenting her, while completely abandoning his warm touches and was now walking to the far end of the lab. _What now?_

 

“Molly your skin tastes fantastic and like no combination I have ever encountered. And what precautions must one take when combining two substances for the first time?”

 

“I’m sure you have a point but I mostly don’t care right now Sherlock.” Molly moved to find her shoes again to join him.

 

Without even looking back, Sherlock called lowly to her. “Stay there. This will only take a moment. And while you’re at it, maybe take that coat off. Trousers too, if you’d prefer them to stay in good condition.”

 

_How can a man so unsure of himself in this regard still be so demanding?_

 

Now he was fishing out something large and apparently heavy from a low cabinet, and turning back to smirk at her. She watched curiously as he lugged a giant rubber and steel-toed hazmat boot across the room, and brought it down hard against the door handle of Molly’s office.

 

With a second blow, Molly jumped as she saw the wood splinter around the knob and before she could process what was happening, Sherlock has disappeared into her warm office. Apparently the space heater she’d left on was running on batteries and had been all day.

 

When he returned in the doorway, he wore a boyish look of pride, knowing he had at least provided them a safer, warmer place to spend the remainder of their incarceration. Molly was still shaking images of kissing him from her mind when she tried to find the question she’d been searching for.

 

“Your computer is on backup power, we can charge your mobile again. I’ll send an email to John, or hell maybe I’ll comment on the blog with something fawning to get his attention. Doubtful anyone will be here tonight, but by morning we should have found ourselves a rescue.”

 

Molly was watching him work the events in his mind, wanting to feel relief at the thought but also registering the loss of him in her arms and just how easily he slipped out of his daze and back to the Sherlock who’s sole aim was to solve the problem. _But what about the problem of me needing you inside me, you tease?_ She thought as she pulled her boots back on defeatedly.

 

“What do you think you’re doing? Those stay off. And you still have these on?” Sherlock was somehow at her feet again, now pulling her to stand and roughly ridding her of her trousers.

 

“Wha-?” Before she could protest, she felt him gather her up, pulling the blankets from the chair and carrying her into the office. He deposited her on the couch she would sometimes nap on and watched as Molly took in how fascinatingly he could shift between sheer brash demand and a puppy’s need for her approval. The latter something she had only recently witnessed, and was eager to see more of. She let him take the reigns once she saw him close the door enough to keep in the considerable heat. She watched as he rummaged through her drawers to find the single candle she had, from a gift basket barely touched, congratulating her for the new lab. _I never thought it would make an appearance in a situation like this._ She mused and she watched him set the room for what she was now convinced would be the most intense night of her life.

 

“Sherlock, at the risk of sounding ungrateful, will you please fuck me now?”

 

“What a polite potty mouth you have.” Sherlock wolfed his way back to her and sat beside her on the couch.

 

 

 

 


End file.
